


bothersome

by xahnadu



Series: a drifter’s gambit [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Mental Health Issues, Other, drifter centered, guardian uses they/them pronouns for ur insert-enjoyment, i love this rat man, sexual content but its not really explicit, theres fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahnadu/pseuds/xahnadu
Summary: Drifter wasn’t much of a poet, but watching them in Gambit was mesmerizing. He watched them time and time again as they cut through waves of Hive and Cabal before melting a Primeval like it was nothing. When they pushed through the portal, he almost wanted to let them stay past the time limit just to see them kick the shit out of the opposing team that they had just wiped.That’s a bad guy,he had thought.No. That’s a god killer,he had remembered.





	bothersome

**Author's Note:**

> ey guys its been a while!
> 
> started this months ago, decided to finish it randomly today
> 
> hope you enjoy <3
> 
> song title is taken from bothersome by jack stauber :^) <3

The Guardians of the Last City were heralded as heroic beacons of Light, ironclad in armor taken from dungeons of Ahamkaras and armed to the teeth with weapons stolen from the hands of Crota and Oryx, all in the name of protecting and reclaiming what used to be the expansive human civilization. They fought Gods and monsters alike for the innocent, to protect them.

Or, at least, that’s what the citizens of the City saw. Guardians viewed each other as colleagues, friends, family, and enemies in the same breath. Always someone to one up, whether it be in the Crucible, strikes, or in who can binge drink more beer in one sitting. The relationships among Guardians was nothing short of a fraternity that could barely pass for “collected.” When not on missions, these heroic saviors of the Light frequently got themselves into trouble just for the hell of it. 

It was all a thin veil that concealed what the Drifter really knew Guardians, or any Lightbearer, to be.

Power hungry. Always thirsting for one more drop of that something more. He was guilty of it as well— don’t think for a moment that he thought that he was above the inherent craving. He could still taste the metallic flavor of Darkness on his tongue that lingered even after he abandoned the name _Dredgen Hope_. 

He wasn’t surprised when Guardians flocked to his Gambit like moths to a flame. Drifter knew he was playing with fire, allowing Guardians to step through those portals and feel the allure of Taken power, the forbidden force that had killed so many who have pursued it.

“Let’s be bad guys,” the Rogue would say to them, a sly grin twisting his features into an expression of cunning. The phrase was ironic. It was as if these Guardians were tired of following rules, of being held down by the Vanguard’s traditions and regulations. 

He found it intriguing that the Vanguard hadn’t bothered shutting him down. Perhaps they too craved the rumored power that the Drifter could offer them for the price of some Motes. They were Guardians, too: being Vanguards did not change that.

It was not long until he found himself comfortably nestled in the Annex, his presence coiled within the insides of the Tower, so perfectly reminiscent of the serpentine Gambit sigil. He kept Guardians busy with Gambit and then Gambit Prime, dangling powerful guns and armor in front of them like bones in front of dogs.

What caught his attention, though, was when the Hero started making appearances.

The fabled Hero of the Red War, the Young Wolf, Iron Lord, Kingslayer, Hivebane… The list went on. The Drifter greeted them like any other Guardian, promising power and loot for just some Motes of Darkness, nothing special.

But when he fed these things to them, he knew that they were seeing right through him. Their eyes cut through whatever was left of his soul before taking their leave.

Drifter wasn’t much of a poet, but watching them in Gambit was mesmerizing. He watched them time and time again as they cut through waves of Hive and Cabal before melting a Primeval like it was nothing. When they pushed through the portal, he almost wanted to let them stay past the time limit just to see them kick the shit out of the opposing team that they had just wiped. 

_That’s a bad guy,_ he had thought.

_No. That’s a god killer,_ he had remembered. 

He was fascinated with the Guardian, or at least that’s what it had started as. The two of them saw each other often, and it was a given that the two got to know each other at least a little bit.

Sometimes, he ventured out of his Annex to watch them in the Crucible. He did his best to avoid gaining Shaxx’s attention by sitting in the crowd, the spectators going wild over the action happening on the screens. The Hero of the Red War was leading on the scoreboard by a landslide and was absolutely crushing the opposing team in what seemed like a one sided game of Control.

Shaxx eventually called the match out of pity. 

And as he observed the Guardian’s abilities, Drifter knew why the Vanguard was so intent on keeping them on a leash. They were a weapon, deadly with or without a gun in their hands. 

Drifter decided he wanted them on his side. He could use them more than the Vanguard could.

So he put on his best grin and reached out to the Guardian, trying to pull them into Gambit more, trying to tighten the grip he had on them. But the more he spoke with them, the more the both of them lingered in the Annex, the more he realized what a terrible miscalculation he had made.

The Drifter had only ever wanted a weapon out of the Guardian. Not… not this.

They were relentless with their questions, earning their place as a persistent pain in his ass. To say that it was worrisome that they were gleaning information from him like this was an understatement. This Guardian was either really good at manipulating him or Drifter had a weak spot. They learned about his strained peace with Shin, his past with the Shadows after Aunor came knocking, and when the Nine finally caught wind, the history of the Haul.

They eventually came to call the other “partner” after a tentative trust had been established. 

When the Guardian decided to join his crew, he had expected himself to feel victorious that he had gained such an asset.

Instead, he felt a terrible sense of unease settle in his stomach.

The fact that they were partners did not change the tingle of apprehension in the air between them. Neither of them fully trusted the other, and if the Drifter was honest with himself, they were both afraid of what would become of this alliance.

The Drifter was attracted to the power that resided in the Guardian: the raw, devastating power that was capable of crushing Hive gods. It was unlike anything he had seen since the monoliths, and it stirred something within him. 

The Guardian craved more power, like any other Lightbearer. Drifter had that power, so naturally they gravitated to him. The intrigue of the Drifter kept them interested, his dark past alluring and frightening at the same time. 

It was inevitable that they would become something more. And when the two finally collided, it hadn’t been tender. Not at first. Not with the Guardian’s hidden rage and his own issues and infatuation with their power.

He figured it out that the Guardian was tired of being Hero, was tired of being treated like a weapon rather than a human being, and that made them angry. They knew that the Drifter saw them as a tool as well, just another pick in his climb to ascension, and that made them hateful. And it showed in their most vulnerable moments with the Drifter, whether it was through angry red marks that littered his back or barely held back sobs, product of either pleasure or crippling sadness.

And it was one night after the Guardian returned from a rough mission that the Drifter stopped them.

They had entered his bedroom on the Derelict and were just about to fall onto the bed when he saw the bruises on their body. He had never noticed them before, as their Ghost had taken care of their injuries, but even now—

Sometimes, the Light couldn’t heal everything. 

The Guardian was in tatters, mentally and physically. Running on fumes. And he had been too blinded by his own hunger, his own curiosity to see such a decent person start to wither away.

When he saw the marks, the Drifter had stopped the Guardian by placing his hands on their bare shoulders, leaning in to scrutinize the injuries.

He had expected them to say something witty, or at least yell at him to stop acting like he cared— but he did. He did care, despite his better judgement. But they remained quiet as his calloused fingers traced over the marks and scars from battles long forgotten. 

The Drifter hesitated when the Guardian hissed through their teeth, his hands brushing over a particularly sensitive spot. He jerked his hands away and glanced at his companion, who quickly averted their gaze.

“This isn’t like you,” they muttered under their breath.

“_This_ isn’t like you,” Drifter huffed, running his hands down their shoulders again. “How long were you going to keep going like this?”

“As long as I can,” the Wolf quipped, turning their steely gaze onto the rogue and brushing his hands off of their shoulders. “This is what I’m made for. I’m a machine. A weapon.” They turned away from him and reached for the bed where their shirt was resting. 

Drifter sucked a breath in.

The Guardian clutched their shirt to their chest and glanced over their shoulder at him. “This thing with you, this fooling around—” They went silent for a moment, looking away from him with a pained expression. “It’s always just been something to help me feel like I’m capable of feeling something other than hatred or bloodlust.”

His brows furrowed upwards, a genuine look of concern crossing his face. He slid off his coat, tossed it on the mattress, and slowly approached the Guardian. They stiffened against him when he slipped his arms around their waist as Drifter pulled them close and nestled his head in the crook of their shoulder.

“I…” he started, searching for the words, “...You’re more than that. And I didn’t bother with realizin’ that until now— I suppose that makes me just as much of a bastard as everyone else.” Drifter huffed with feigned amusement, shame making his chest constrict painfully. 

They stood there in silence for a moment until he found the right words. 

“I care about you, more than I’d like to admit, and it may end up killin’ me— that’s beside the point,” Drifter huffed. “What I’m trying to say that you may not realize it now, but you’re becoming somethin’ to me more than just some war hero. And while everyone may just see you as the picturesque statue in the square, I get to see you for who you are. You’re openin’ up to me, even now, and that proves that you can do more than just kill shit. You’re human, just a really fuckin’ tough one.”

The Lightbearer’s voice dropped lower, his arms snaking around their waist further, pressing his chest to their back. “And even if you don’t see that yet, we can still do this. It can be just a way for you to blow off steam, to feel good about yourself, about us.”

He paused as the Guardian turned around in his arms, resting their hands on his chest as they tilted their chin up at him. Their eyes glistened, somewhere between glassy with sadness and soft with something like contentedness. 

“Drifter—” they began.

“—Eli.” 

“...I, what?”

The rogue huffed. It was his turn to glance away from his companion. “...Eli. That’s my name. I don’t really think you need to call me Drifter anymore.”

The Young Wolf’s eyes widened, shocked and almost delighted at the same time. Their fingers curled against the tough fabric of his _gi_, glancing down at his jade pendant before looking at him. “Eli.” 

He smiled softly. “Yeah, youngblood?” 

They pulled him down and kissed him, their hands tracing the folds of the fabric, past the crimson string of his necklace, and wrapped around his neck as air rushed out of their nose, a content sigh of sorts. 

The shirt was discarded, along with his _gi_, as they fell into bed together. 

The sex wasn’t rough. It bordered on sweet, almost terribly so— so much that the Guardian thought they were going to tear up. It was sweet touches and caresses over all of their aching bruises and wounds. Soft moans and voices and it was so _gentle_.

When it was over, Eli gathered the Guardian in his arms, and while they were still slick with sweat, neither of them cared much. They lounged in silence, and it wasn’t until the Guardian couldn’t keep their eyes open that words were exchanged.

“Hey,” they whispered, turning on their side and resting their free hand on the rogue’s chest.

“Hey,” he hummed in response, curious cobalt eyes flitting down to look at his companion.

“Thanks. I mean, thanks for saying that,” the Guardian mumbled, “It… meant a lot to me.”

Eli smiled at them and rested his head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling of the room. “You needed to hear the truth. I’m just sorry that it took me so long to do something,” he said, his voice bitter.

The Guardian hummed no real answer, just a small noise of understanding as sleep draped itself over them like a blanket.

***

It wasn’t until his companion finally went to sleep that the Drifter rose from bed. He did so quietly and slowly as to not wake the sleeping Guardian. He wanted to make sure that they got some decent sleep, especially to heal all of those bruises.

He slipped into his _gi_ and padded through the Derelict, the cold numbing the pads of his feet as he rounded a corner into a makeshift kitchen and draped his arms over the counter. He pulled out a drawer and revealed a pack of cigarettes.

Drifter removed one from its packaging and slipped it into his mouth before bringing a lighter to the end. He puffed out a plume of smoke as he leaned on his elbows, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowing.

“What am I _doing_?”

This wasn’t in the plan.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading, leave a comment if u want! they make my day
> 
> feel free to follow my twitter:  
https://twitter.com/redocyon


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